


Thus Saith the Lord

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Lucifer wants this all to end, Michael’s a stubborn dick, Minor Character Death, Season 5 compliant-esque starting from 5x10: Abandon All Hope, compliant violence aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10167233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: Michael and Lucifer contemplate their sides of the chessboard, praying to each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So my favorite metal cover artist did a collaboration with another cover artist I greatly admire and they did The Plagues from The Prince of Egypt. If you have never seen this movie, GO SEE IT. It’s one of the BEST animated works from my childhood, and you won’t regret it. This is the movie production of The Plagues (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bcg5rN-jlaw), and this is the cover version of The Plagues (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRLsZldkkMo). Both are fantastic in their own rights, but I got such Michifer feels from it that I had to write the fic. I didn’t include the last line of the song because I felt like ending it with the way it began would hurt more xD I also changed the lyrics so it fit better with it, but it’s very minimal. 
> 
> I would also like to thank @trisscar368 for looking over this briefly this afternoon and helping me work out a kink or two. 
> 
> Episodes I drew inspiration from are 5x10 Abandon All Hope; 5x14 My Bloody Valentine; 5x19 Hammer of the Gods (and the reason for the minor character death tag); and 5x22 Swan Song

**Thus saith the Lord**

 

_ Since you refuse to let my past go _

_ All through the land of Father’s... _

_ I send a pestilence and plague _

_ Into your house, into your bed _

_ Into your streams, into your streets _

_ Into your drink, into your bread _

_ Upon your cattle, on your sheep _

_ Upon your oxen in your field _

_ Into your dreams, into your sleep _

_ Until you break, until you yield _

_ I send the swarm, I send the horde _

 

This was the constant litany Michael heard for five months straight after his younger brother obtained a vessel. That was  _ definitely  _ Lucifer’s voice, all silky and smooth, but filled with the fire and rage of someone who feels wronged. 

Michael wasn’t going to break. Michael wasn’t going to yield.

The Viceroy of Heaven strode out of his office and looked down at the Earth below the Heavens to ascertain his next move. Lucifer was moving quickly, and so far, all attempts to gain Dean Winchester as a Vessel were for naught. 

“Michael.”

He turned and regarded Raphael. “Yes?” 

“The Adversary is about to summon Death.” 

Michael nodded. “Prepare the troops,” he said quietly, “And deploy the Grigori and the Reapers not involved with the ritual raising Death.” 

Raphael nodded, walking away. 

 

**Thus saith the Lord**

 

Lucifer walked amongst the carnage in Carthage, the ritual to bind Death to his will complete. He hated doing this, hated everything that led up this moment. Hated that he had to pressure Sam Winchester into letting him use him as a Vessel, for this final deathmatch. 

Why  _ did  _ it have to end in Death? Wasn’t there supposed to be a balance? Wasn’t that the thing about the universe? A balance was needed? 

Can’t have a Viceroy of Heaven without the Prince of Hell. 

He raised his face up to the skies, up towards his home, praying to the only other being besides their absent Father that loved him. Well, there was Gabriel, but his brother fled. A casualty, the first of many in this age old fight between Michael and himself. 

“Once I called you brother,” he prayed to Michael, directly, broadcasting it all over angel radio. “Once I thought the chance to make you laugh was all I ever wanted.”

 

_ I send the thunder from the sky _

_ I send the fire raining down _

 

“And even now I wish that Dad had chose another,” he continued, raising his face to the thunder and rain being rained down from Heaven, a side effect of Death being in the area. He walked, kicking over demons’ bodies as he went. “Serving as your foe on His behalf is the last thing that I wanted…”

 

_ I send a hail of burning ice _

_ On ev'ry field, on ev'ry town _

 

Lucifer walked amongst the dead that the Winchesters had left behind after dealing with Famine in Sioux Falls, shaking his head as he observed the destruction left behind. He shook his head at the corpse of Famine in his wheelchair. 

_ Why won’t Michael listen to me?  _ He wondered as he felt the memories of this place, feeling the struggle Sam Winchester was suffering with his addiction to demonic blood. That made his heart ache. It was necessary, since that’s the only way Sam could make his body truly ready for him, but he still hated it. 

Just as he hated humanity in general and what they’ve done to his beautiful home. Earth wasn’t as lush, wasn’t as green as she once was, and as he trailed his fingers over metal, ice flared from his touch. 

The reverse of the Midas Touch, it would seem to be. 

He felt everything. Sam’s determination not to let his addiction get the better of him; Dean’s emptiness that allowed him to remain calm from Faminine’s pain of need; Castiel’s vessel’s craving for red meat, like he was some sort of rugaru. 

He turned on his heel and walked out and raised his face to the sky, feeling the cold bite at his vessel’s skin, the burned skin soothed by it. 

“This was my home!” he shouted at his brother once more, his anger fueling his prayer. He hoped it gave Michael a headache, wherever his brother was. “All this pain and devastation- How it tortures me inside!”

_ This could be over if we both walked away,  _ he thought, resisting the tear threatening to spill forth. “All the innocent who suffer from your stubbornness and pride!!” he continued. 

There. He may be a prideful being, may be the poster boy for the mortal sin Pride, but like  _ Hell  _ Michael wasn’t. If Michael had anymore pride, he’d be a peacock. Calling him out on his pride would hopefully get his proverbial head out of his ass. 

 

_ I send the locusts on a wind _

_ Such as the world has never seen _

_ On ev'ry leaf, on ev'ry stalk _

_ Until there's nothing left of green _

_ I send my scourge, I send my sword _

 

Michael gnashed his teeth together. His brother’s prayers  _ were  _ grating, annoying, and it didn’t help that his fuse was already short. The Winchester boys, it seemed, had  _ no  _ concept of destiny, had  _ disregarded  _ him when he said that free will was an illusion, and that they were determined to keep saying no. 

Adam was doing nicely, and would do the job properly- it was of the Winchester line, and Adam does work, but he didn’t want Adam Milligan for his Vessel. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. 

Dean Winchester was meant to be his vessel. 

“Viceroy?” A young seraph from the garrison asked. Michael made a mental note to deal with Castiel later. “The pagan gods are mobilizing.” 

Michael groaned. “Keep a few Reapers and a platoon of seraphs. Do not interfere unless it becomes necessary.” 

“Yes, Viceroy.” 

Michael returned his gaze back down to his desk, shifting the papers when he saw parchment from before Lucifer’s fall. He gasped and moved away when he saw the picture below, drawn and painted in his brother’s style. It was a portrait of the two of them, way before the humans were created, of Lucifer resting his head just underneath Michael’s chin, soft gentle smiles on their faces. Michael’s eyes were opened, but Lucifer’s were closed, and from the way the shoulders were, they were at the very least without anything covering their torsos. 

There was a note underneath in his brother’s neat and elegant writing, the writing of a more posh being than let on. 

_ Please. For the sake of memories and love lost to a war torn idea, I am begging you. Let the past go. Walk off the chessboard with me. Let us co-exist like the universe clearly meant for us to be.  _

Michael sighed. His brother, the poster boy for free will. 

Finding a blank piece of that self same parchment, Michael dipped his fountain pen into the ink and wrote in his short, brash scrawl. A warrior’s writing. 

_ This is what Father commanded. You’re evil. I must.  _

 

**Thus saith the Lord!**

 

Lucifer gently kneeled by Gabriel’s head. Sitting down on his butt, he gently lifted Gabriel’s head and laid it on his calf, running his fingers through golden blond hair. “Little golden ray,” he murmured thickly, letting the tears come and flow down his cheeks. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want  _ any  _ of this. Why wouldn’t Michael  _ cease  _ this folly?! 

Another angel dead, by his own hand. . . And this one, this one hurt more than all the rest. 

Sure, he had some blame to claim, but most of this. . . this blood, this Grace taken far too soon? 

That was Michael’s. 

“You who I called brother!” he bellowed. Maybe one day Michael would answer. “Why must you call down another blow?!”

Tears streamed down his face, radiating his anger and hurt. 

 

_ I send my scourge, I send my sword _

 

“Let the past go!” he sobbed.

 

**Thus saith the Lord!**

 

Michael slumped in his chair, burying his face in his hands.

His baby brother was dead. 

He felt the echoing Grace of Gabriel crying out, as unfamiliar as it felt at first, he knew the Messenger’s Grace once it finished its death rattle before the light was extinguished forever. 

“No,” he whispered. 

Lucifer was right. It all needed to be stopped. 

But properly. 

At the final fight.

 

**Thus saith the Lord!**

 

Michael paced around the tombstones in Stull Cemetery, clinically observing the battleground for the battle that was to take place in just a few short hours. His blade was up his sleeve, there were Reapers and Grigori hiding in the woods, waiting to serve whichever brother won. 

Michael prayed it would be him. As much as he doesn’t want to kill Lucifer, he knows his brother cannot walk on this Earth much longer. The destruction of Father’s favorite creation would destroy Him. 

It was destiny. 

It was his turn to broadcast a prayer to Lucifer, possibly the first prayer to his brother in millennia. 

“You who I called brother,” he called out, looking around the soon to be battlefield. “How could you have come to hate me so? Is this what you wanted?”

He knew the answer to that, but he couldn’t allow himself to weaken.  _ Be the firstborn. Be strong. Be absolute. For all intents and purposes, you ARE Father. No sympathy. No mercy. Not for Lucifer.  _

 

_ I send the swarm, I send the horde... _

 

“Then let my heart be hardened,” he said when Lucifer didn’t reply, his silence almost deafening and giving an answer.  _ Michael you know the answer to this.  _ “And never mind how high the cost may grow, this will still be so:

I will never let the past go!”

_ I will  _ NEVER  _ forgive you for tearing us apart.  _

 

**Thus saith the Lord!**

 

Lucifer watched his brother pace around the cemetery, Sam shifting restlessly inside him. 

_ Are you ready, young Padawan?  _ He asked softly. 

_ We need to do it. Doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not.  _ Sam sighed.  _ I’ll be able to get out, right?  _

_ I’m sure my dear old Father will find a way. If not, possibly Death or another angel who might be fond of you will get you out.  _ Lucifer gave a sad smile, both of them hearing Michael’s prayer. 

They were silent as they listened. 

_ Now or never, Sam,  _ Lucifer said. 

If Sam was in possession of his body, he’d be squaring his shoulders and jaw.  _ Let’s go.  _

_ Thus saith the Lord,  _ Lucifer thought absently as he strode onto the battlefield, game plan in hand. 

 

**Thus saith the Lord**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


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